


Security breach

by ferggirl



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Felicity's perspective, Gen, Humor, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Outtakes, and I really wanted to write it, because you guys asked for it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferggirl/pseuds/ferggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few "outtakes" from Felicity's perspective, based on the events of my story "Whatever it Takes." Because you wanted to know what Felicity was thinking, especially at a few key moments, and I really wanted to write those moments. Chapter 1: Birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Birthday

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Whatever it takes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/749149) by [ferggirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferggirl/pseuds/ferggirl). 



> A/N: Not sure if I'm using the "inspired by" link right, but if something doesn't make sense, or you want to see Oliver's perspective, head over to that story. :)
> 
> A/N 2: Thanks to Drunk!Felicity for being such good-natured fun to write, and to my thoughtful beta Diana, who gave great suggestions!

**CHAPTER 1: BIRTHDAY**

It's not quite what Felicity would call a rager, but her 24th birthday is shaping up nicely. She's finally dug up the courage to wear that stupid gold dress again - the one that Oliver Queen bought for her the night that the Dodger collared her at the art auction. Maybe her hands keep brushing her neck, but she looks damn fine and her friends are suitably impressed.

"I'm sorry, is that Smoak in a proper clubbing dress?"

"Where's my favorite geek in panda flats and glasses?"

"Felicityyyyyy! You look amazing!"

Well, she calls them friends. She supposes that more accurately they are girls she knows from work who are willing to go out and celebrate her birthday. Elaine from Procurement, her lunch buddy who mostly now pumps her for dirt on Oliver ("Are his eyes really that blue?" "Does he still speak normal English or does he have a Chinese accent?" "Yeah, but are they REALLY that blue?"), sets up the whole night. That means Felicity only knows about half the group. But hey, they keep buying her drinks, so she'll go with friends.

Her only requirement is that they go somewhere,  _anywhere_ , but Verdant.

Elaine is visibly disappointed when Felicity draws this line at lunch. Felicity is pretty sure that's because her lunch buddy was planning to investigate for herself whether Oliver's eyes are quite that blue. (They are.)

"I just, it'd be too weird, Elaine." Felicity stabs another crouton as she demolishes a caesar salad. "I don't want to go to the club my boss owns with the intention of getting drunk and silly."  _I don't want Oliver to see me as more of a mess than he already does._

So, here they are, across town at Blackout. It may be only the second hottest ticket in town, but it's incredibly unlikely that she'll see Oliver or Diggle. She's wearing the stupidest plastic "birthday girl" tiara and about to do her third Soco and lime shot when someone stumbles up to her.

"Felicity Smoak! You look smoking hot. Heh heh, 'smoak-ing', get it?" He's vaguely familiar, and he's looking down her dress. She downs the shot and looks around for backup, but Elaine is chatting up one of her admirer's buddies and won't meet her eyes.

"Did they let you out of the IT cave for the night?" He's talking again.  _Well that's a relief, a bad pun on my name followed up by a dig at my job. At least he's consistent._

But she's loose and having a good time, so she can handle a little unwanted attention.

"No, this is a hologram projection of me. I'm actually drinking alone in the bowels of Queen Consolidated." She feels her crown shift, and reaches up to fix it. "While wearing a tiara."

He laughs, but not at her joke. "You should dress like this at work!"

"That would be totally inappropriate!" she yells over a new song. Elaine has ordered another round of drinks, and slides hers across the bar with a grin.

"Hi, George! You found the birthday girl!"

***

The club stays open until 4 am, but Felicity manages to call it a night around 1:30, citing work the next day. It's been fun, despite some awkward exchanges with George (who she's learned works in accounting, is very keen on grooming his chest hair, and has two Siamese cats). But she has to rebuild a server tomorrow and needs at least a few brain cells operating.

Elaine is unimpressed. "Doncha know how to have any fun, Smoaky?" She's hanging onto the arm of a seriously handsome guy, and shooting furiously suggestive looks at him in between pleading with Felicity to stay. Most of the original group are either already gone or out on the dance floor.

"S'fine, Laney." Felicity blinks when her nickname slips out. She's drunker than she realized. Making an effort to speak clearly, she says, "I'm jus' going to grab a cab. Totally fine. No big deal. S'fine."

She's both absurdly relieved and surprisingly disappointed that neither Oliver or Diggle have called. As she picks her way carefully across the sticky, crowded dance floor to the door, she considers – just for a moment – calling one of them and telling him he's a  _terrible_  boss for forgetting her birthday. But then she almost slips on a spilled beer and when she regains her balance, she remembers that she really, really would rather not mix drunk Felicity and her intimidating, stupid-hot boss.

The cabbie has to wake her up when they get to her apartment building, and she shoves two twenties at him with a smile and a cheerful "S'my birthday!"

Hank is at the door, shaking his head.

"Miss Felicity, you are wearing a tiara."

She grabs the silly plastic thing off her head and giggles.

"THAT," she says carefully, "is cause 'tsmy birthday, Hank."

"Well isn't that nice," he says, walking her to the elevator. "Did you get presents?"

"No. NO. I didn't get ANY." This suddenly bothers her. A lot. "Why didn't I get any presents?"

The elevator dings and opens. Hank shakes his head again.

"I'm sure they're coming." Hank has such  _nice_ eyes, she thinks. And then she's thinking about eyes, and she's back to Oliver and she's staring off into space, trying to pinpoint the RGB code for his eye color. Hank reaches in and hits her floor number. "You get some sleep, ok?"

"No way," she says as the doors slide closed. "Imma go buy myself  _presents_."

She gives a wave goodnight to the security cam in the elevator, and is quite proud of how well she manages to find her door. But then it gets complicated. She's still only half awake, after sleeping through the cab ride. And since the security company came and replaced her broken unit a few weeks ago, she has a new code that is currently dancing around in the hidden recesses of her mind.

She stares the keypad down, and then sways and puts her hand on it to catch herself.

 _Whew, dizzy much?_  Oblivious to the soft buzzing warning that the keypad is emitting, Felicity leans against the wall.  _I'll just sit down for a minute, just till the hallway stops spinning._

***

She wakes up in her bed. Her head is splitting open, and she rolls to her side in agony, taking stock of her situation. She's still in her dress, but she managed to get her shoes off, so that's a plus. There's a glass of water on her bedside table, and she cheers drunk Felicity for remembering to leave herself a way to down some aspirin.

Then she hauls herself into enough of a sitting position to see the note.  _Drunk Felicity wished herself happy birthday?_ Just how drunk had she gotten? She needs to check in with Hank… or hack the video feed in the lobby.

But first, ugh, she needs a shower.

Felicity crawls out of bed and sheds the dress, groping around for a t-shirt to replace it. She feels too gross to be walking around naked, and the soft cotton is a relief against her clammy skin. A piece of paper crinkles under her foot and she grimaces at the scrawled numbers. Apparently "George" had gotten close enough to tuck his number into the back of her dress. Ewww.

The room tilts a bit and she stumbles out into the living room, then stops cold. There is someone on her couch. There is  _a man_  on her couch. And she's in a t-shirt.

Then he stirs, and she realizes that it's not just a man, it's super-hot, totally confusing, completely out of her league Oliver Queen. She doesn't mean to say anything, she really doesn't. She'll just keep walking to the safety of the bathroom. But he's there, and it just… slips out.

"Are you freaking kidding me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So now I feel like I need to get Felicity some presents. Poor thing. Let me know what you think! Want a few more of these?


	2. Voicemail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the week she's had, Felicity needs a voicemail that sends a specific message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: My goodness. This took longer than I meant for it to! Thanks to everyone for the kudos! Since I'm writing this as I think of good scenes to tell from Felicity's POV, it's going to be slower, but hopefully not THAT much slower.
> 
> My beta Diana told me that this is not weird and disjointed and I (almost) believed her. So thank her for me letting this go.
> 
> A/N 2: I still don't own Arrow. I only own my love for Stephen Amell's abs and eyes. And arms. And general sense of humor. Ohhh, this is a bit of a problem.

 

**CHAPTER 2: Voicemail**

 

It's been one of those long weeks, the kind where every small thing that can go off track does, just because somewhere, someone is getting some sick cosmic amusement from watching Felicity Smoak flounder.

It isn't just the Tuesday cocoa stain on her new white polka-dot blouse, or the fact that she discovers on Wednesday that her favorite pair of flats is losing the sole on the left foot. This week she's had  _three separate visits_  from George to ask her, again, why she won't have dinner with him.

Somehow, he manages to make the classic line – "Listen, I know my reputation is probably intimidating, but don't hate the player, hate the game" (yes, he actually uses those words at 9:15 on Monday morning) – vaguely pathetic. So she tries to be nice.

Mistake.

He comes back mid-morning on Wednesday, insisting that she doesn't know her own mind, doesn't appreciate the offer, and isn't thinking clearly. She is elbow-deep in code, focused on finding the error that's been causing glitches in legal's archiving system all week, and is less friendly when she asks him to leave. But she manages not to be insulting or rude, and considers it a win for humanity.

Friday afternoon at 4 pm, he manages to get around the desk before she realizes he's there. She has her headphones on, completely immersed in breaking the code on a flash drive that Oliver gave her last night. So when he reaches over her and shuts off her monitor in a horribly misguided attempt to be cute, she feels no guilt in hitting him with her wireless keyboard. He beats a hasty retreat, but still manages to toss a line about it being "her woman's time" and "playing hard to get" over his shoulder. She barely resists lobbing the keyboard at his head.

At least today is Saturday. Blessed peace. Barring any arrow-related emergencies, her plans today are to paint her nails (she's thinking purple) and watch an unspeakable amount of television.

The first phone call comes at 10 am, from a number she doesn't recognize. Working with Oliver and Diggle, she knows better than to trustingly answer the phone and lets it ring out. She's gotten three messages by 3 pm, each one a variation of "you don't know what you're missing" in George's smug voice, and none expressing remorse or discouragement. She's so annoyed that she winds up smudging purple nail polish all over her phone case. Clearly violence isn't answer enough. So she changes her voicemail.

"Hi, you've reached Felicity Smoak! I'm either ignoring you, or I genuinely can't answer my phone. I'm probably not ignoring you, though. Unless you're George from accounting. Please stop calling me, George. Uh, right, leave a message. Just not you, George."

Then she throws the phone onto her bed and retreats to her living room to sulk and eat ice cream, as it's the only thing left in her fridge.  _The Two Towers_ is on tv, and she catches enough of the end to wonder what Oliver would say about her girlhood crush, Legolas, and his bow and his flowing blond hair. Admittedly, Orlando Bloom's boyish perfection pales a bit when she compares him to the lethal muscles her boss brought back with him from five years of hell. Ok, pales a lot.  _Mmmm, those are some really impressive muscles._

She's drawn out of her contemplation by the phone ringing in her bedroom.

"I am not worth this much effort, George," she groans. "Just let me watch the battle of Helm's Deep in peace!"

She trudges toward the other room to pick up the call, intending to shut this down once and for all, but is distracted by Legolas using a shield to surf down some stairs while firing his bow.  _We need to get Oliver a shield to play with,_ shethinks. And then she's lost in her own thoughts, designing a shield that is strong enough to hold his weight when stair-surfing but capable of folding down at the push of a button so that it can be hidden. She's considering different materials when she remembers the phone.

There's a message, but it's not George, it's her mother.

"Felicity? Who's George? Jacob, do you know a friend of Felicity's named George? Do you have a boyfriend I don't know about? Why aren't you answering your phone at this time of night? You should be home, are you home? Just, call me back. We need to talk about your father's birthday." The message ends with a long, drawn out sigh that encapsulates much of their relationship.

Ok. Enough. This calls for some beer.

 

***

The corner store is a surprising success, and she winds up juggling a bag of snacks that she just couldn't resist stress-eating with her left arm and holding a six-pack in her right hand. She hits the elevator button with her elbow and smiles a hello at Hank.

"That looks like supplies for more than one," he says with a smile. "Your boyfriend coming back over?"

(Hank hasn't stopped teasing her since the night of her birthday, when she made a bit of a drunken fool of herself, and Oliver Queen slept on her couch. Not that Hank believes her when she tells him that Oliver stayed on the couch. His exact reaction had been, "I think you got just the present you were after, Miss Felicity.")

"No way, Hank," she says, watching the elevator creep down from an upper floor. "Because as I already explained, he is A) not my boyfriend and B) … well, actually, I think A covers it. Nope, this is all for me."

"Shame," Hank shakes his head. The elevator dings and she retreats inside, her cheeks a bit flushed from all the oblique references to Oliver.

Felicity can feel her left arm going numb as she exits the elevator and heads for her door. She's so close, though, that she hates the idea of having to set everything down just to punch in her code. Instead, she puts the six-pack on the flat of her left hand and balances it up against the wall. She's got this.

0 … 1 … 1 … 2 … 3 …

She's two numbers away when she gets a cramp in her left pinky. Absently flexing her hand to try and relieve the ache, she upends the six-pack. It flips, the bottles sliding free and crashing to the floor. Trying to keep a hold on the bag of food, she accidentally hits the pad with her elbow.

9.

 _Dammit, that's not the next number in the Fibonacci sequence._ The box starts beeping. She's covered in beer foam and there's broken glass all over the hallway. Scowling, she clears the screen and starts typing again.

0112358

The beeping stops and her door lock clicks free. She uses her toe to kick it open and drops the bag on the kitchen counter, dumping out the chips, salsa, ice cream, and cheese.  _Dinner of champions_ , she thinks as she brings the empty paper bag back out to start the slow process of cleaning up the glass.

The door to the stairwell flies open, and her boss vaults into the hallway at full speed. Felicity can't believe her luck. What were the odds that there was a sudden Hood emergency?  _The odds are never in my favor._

"Oh, please, yes, do come by and watch me make an ass of myself," she mutters when he catches her eye. Now Hank is never going to believe her.

"Are you ok? What happened?" His question throws her. If this isn't a vigilante emergency, then why did he just run up the stairs to her apartment? He makes a move to step around her and look in her apartment, but her body finally catches up with her suspicious mind. Her hand grabs his ankle and he freezes.

"Oliver Queen, what the hell are you doing here?" She tugs, and his foot finds the ground again, back outside her apartment door. He crouches down, helping to pick up glass shards and she can tell from his expression that he's considering what stupid story to tell her. He'd had the same blank, bland look each time he'd walked into her office at Queen Consolidated.

"I should probably add that if you lie to me again I will move to Coast City and write a tell-all book about vigilantes." Her cheerful words have an edge of frustration to them, because she understands Oliver well enough to know that he's truly undecided right now about whether his next words include telling her any of the truth.

His eyes meet hers, and her stomach sinks, just a little. She'd really thought they were past this. What on earth could he have to lie to her about? Laurel Lance's elegant face pops into her mind and she pushes it to the side, ruthlessly telling herself that this is about friendship, not some stupid crush.

"I, uh," he dumps his bits of glass into the paper bag she is using to collect the broken pieces, and holds out a hand to pull her to her feet. She waits, hands on hips, for the evasion.

"You screwed up your security code," he says finally.

"Yeah, how would you-" she starts, before realization dawns. She should have known that all of his help with the security company came with a price. "Dammit, Oliver! What are you, my mother? Because I have one of those, and she's very Jewish and a little annoying."

"No, I'm just the reason you're in danger at all," he growls. It's an absurd statement, but she can see how completely he believes it.

"Oh come on," she sighs, giving him a sharp look. "I don't merit a good break-in or assault all on my own? I do own an awful lot of high-tech equipment, I was doing work for Walter, and as a woman, I'd like to think that-"

"Felicity." He cuts her off, sounding surprisingly unamused.  _Well that's just fine, we can both be unhappy now._  It gives her a moment to rearrange her thoughts, and the extent of his intrusion looms large in her mind.

"But that's not the point, is it?" She crosses her arms. "To get the security company to call you, you would have to have my account number, my social security number, my passwords…"

Oliver sighs, and she's surprised to see him wince as she lists off his transgressions. He's not usually big on admitting errors.

"You're my responsibility now," he says, but it lacks force. She knows she should really fight him on that. It's overbearing and simplistic, and just not true. But something warms in her chest at the look in his eyes, pleading with her to understand why he would commit fraud and spy on her.

"You really are an idiot." For a moment, she sees pain flash across his face before his familiar Oliver Queen mask of stoicism shutters his expression. He's steeling himself for a blow. She pushes her hair out of her face, and decides to listen to her stupid heart and go easy on him.

"You could have just asked me." He looks baffled, so she shoots him a nervous smile and explains. "I don't exactly mind having you guys look out for me, I'd just like to be in on it. You know, actually part of the team."

He steps toward her, then, reaching a hand out to cup her shoulder. They both cringe when glass crunches under his foot, but he doesn't let go. She finds her entire world narrows to that moment and his sincere blue eyes and the warmth of his palm on her skin.

"Deal. I'm sorry," he says, and she knows he means it. They stand frozen for a moment, and then his hand falls away and she hurries to fill the silence.

"Good. Because you are so buying the new six-pack," she can't resist another smile. "And then I am going to lay down some security monitoring rules. While drinking your beer, obviously. Incidentally, how many tries do you think it would take you to bring down an Oliphant?"

Oliver blinks at her, trying to process the rapid fire information. "Yes to beer. We'll discuss your rules. What's an Oliphant?"

Felicity's smile widens to a full-fledged grin. "I've found the perfect Halloween costume for you. Just need a blond wig. How do you feel about shields and stairs?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So that's the story behind that odd voicemail message. What did you think? Will George get the message? Was Felicity way too easy on Oliver?


End file.
